Six Dogs Left
by Vulpuz
Summary: Benedict Edgar Wood and his team are sent out to deliver goods to the town of Beaufort in the harsh, unforgiving climate of Alaska in November of 1867.


_Twelve nights, thirteen days. _

The script was scrawled over a parchment, weathered by time, use, and the elements, held in a hand like brown leather, and partially covered in snow.

Jurgen tugged on the wrist, wrenching the owner out of the snowbank. His face betrayed no emotion as he stared down at the grisly corpse, its yellowed mouth gaping up at him like a dead fish.

Greene, the Irishman, who had just stepped out of the cave we had been camping in since dusk of last night, had to turn his head away, holding a gloved hand over his mouth and nose. Jurgen simply sniffed, before turning the corpse over with his boot.

Bending down, he searched the frozen body for supplies, retrieving a knife partially-covered-in-ice and a few rolls of soaked paper money from the dead man's pockets.

He tucked the knife in his fur belt, but the money, he gave to me.

"For the dogs."  
>He spoke of our ill-fated huskies, whom we had picked up at our last stop in Fort Yukon. The dogs had broken loose during the night, and most were dead by morning, after a foolish skirmish with wolves. Greene, who had had the task of watching the pesky things, had fallen asleep- His back was no doubt sore after the beating Jurgen gave him for his incompetence, but it did in no way give us any more dogs than we had now- Twelve were needed to make the time we were previously in our rush to Beaufort to deliver our goods, and we had six canines left.<p>

At least when we reached Beaufort, if ever, we'd have enough to purchase some more members of the sled crew.

The Swede Allsing soon reappeared from the darkness of the cave, accompanied by Greene. The tall Swede's typically trim mustache was frozen at the tips, and even his curt manner of walking was hindered somewhat by his tired legs. "Hundarna är redo."

I looked to Jurgen for translation.

My Scandinavian associate ran a hand through his thick beard, which was covered in a thin sheet of ice. "De dogs are ready."

We sailed through the snow like a ship through the sea, Greene lurching inexpertly with each sharp turn the dogs took us, as they barked and panted and howled across the frozen earth.  
>Late afternoon soon turned to night, and then the night to morning, and then the morning to late afternoon.<p>

We took our supper upon the sled, drinking wine from canteens and salted meat from our packs while Allsing, our husky caretaker, dealt with their feeding. The occasional "Bra hundar...bra hundar…" could be heard over the brisk silence, as the Swede cooed to our crew, petting and caressing their big, weary bodies.

And then once more, we were off. Snowflakes soon drifted from the skies like sugar, burning what part of your face wasn't covered by scarf and bandanna with all the fury of a hornet. It got in your eyes and caught in your clothes, most of which ended up as naught but soaked wool and fur. My good Mr. Jurgen Skald was the only one who didn't seem fazed by the nuisance of weather, what part of his beard that wasn't tucked into his long coat a brilliant blanket of white. Even the god Odin himself couldn't match this man's hardiness and bravado, I thought, as Jurgen roared laughing into what was now whipping snow as he goaded the dogs deeper into the Alaskan wilderness, pulling at their harnesses.

Greene wheezed miserably in stark contrast to the Scandinavian, wrapped up in a cloak of beaver pelts. He had lost his hat earlier, when the sled bumped against a frozen tree limb caught beneath the blanket of white. As small furry animals darted to and fro to avoid our wildly driving vehicle, the Irishman moaned and cursed wretchedly, wishing for the emerald lands of his birthplace.

We chose to ignore him, the Swede, the Scandinavian, and the American I, covered in our wisely-selected pelts of bear and mink and our woolen socks and scarves, Allsing the Swede shivering courageously through a damp mink coat.

The next time we turned to glance at the piteous greenhorn, he was gone.

We looked about behind us to see if he had just recently fallen, but there was not a trace of him in sight.

A man lost at sea. The sea of white earth, deep in the strangeness of Alaska. Just another frozen corpse to find later, Jurgen dismissed. Allsing agreed. Greene was nothing but a burden to the rest of us, but then I thought of his wife Anna back at St. Elias, and cursed the man's cruel luck.

Perhaps one day even I shall end up a body like the rest, another foreign man who dared brave the elements, and died in his defeat-It was always the same story, of how a man forgot to light his fire before he slept, how he neglected to bring others with him, how he died with a belly full of dogmeat and no haven in sight for damned fools such as he. To be scavenged by nature's children, be they the few plants of the hard earth or the hungry little animals, with their sharp teeth and cunning, shiny eyes.

Summoning the finest image I could of the man I knew so little about, I wished Mr. Greene farewell.

When we finally reached Beaufort, it was dusk. A lone snow owl hooted in the frigid dampness as we unboarded our sled and unleashed the huskies. Allsing pulled them by their leashes, ushering them gently to the warmth of a small barn we had secured for their care once we arrived. The Swede treated them like his own children, and I thanked my stars that I had ever managed to meet the man in that dank tavern in Fort Yukon.

Jurgen threw an arm about my shoulders and steered me towards the wizened old storekeeper whom had paid for our services, Mr. Dunwald. He gave us sixty dollars for the trip, eighteen in recompense for Greene's loss, and another five for each of the six dogs. Me, Jurgen, and Allsing split the money evenly amongst us, while I pocketed the eighteen as well so as to deliver it to Greene's widow back in St. Elias. Or keep it, depending on whether or not I'd wish to court fair Anna. Allsing kept the money for the dogs, for they were his own, and he bought six more dogs to accompany the survivors of our wild trip.

My thoughts drifted to Anna, her hair like wisps of pure silver against the moonlight, and with a longing desire to dream of her, I excused myself from my companions for the night.

The next day, it was back into the wilds.

-B. Edgar Wood, Tradesman, November 12, 1867.


End file.
